


Tutor or Subject

by SmartassUndertheMountain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Reader is bad at learning languages, Studying, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartassUndertheMountain/pseuds/SmartassUndertheMountain
Summary: Requested: Female reader and Spidey/Peter where Peter is assigned to the reader by a teacher because shes failing classes or something?(4 times you studied with Peter and one time you studied each other)Female Reader was requested, but I have not noticed a gendered pronoun used for the reader in my editing, so I'm tagging it as Gender Neutral. If I missed one, PLEASE let me know so I can correct for y'all! I would hate to play someone like that!





	Tutor or Subject

**Author's Note:**

> I picked that the reader is bad at languages (because I'm utter shit at learning languages) and because he's shown in Spanish class in Homecoming I rolled with it. If you know Spanish then you could easily imagine it's a different language because I only mention Spanish specifically (maybe) twice?
> 
> Female Reader was requested, but I can't find a place where I used pronouns for the reader, so could be read as gender neutral reader! (If you notice that I missed a pronoun, please let me know so I can correct it!)

  **The time you were studying in his apartment after school:**  

         “I’m an idiot and I’m never going to get this.”

         “No you aren’t and yes you are. Languages aren’t the easiest thing to learn.”

         “Then why am I the only one who failed the midterm?” You looked away, your face feeling hot and your eyes stinging.

         Peter sighed and scooted closer to you on the couch until his arm was pressed against yours. “Y/N? Will you look at me? Please?”

         You shook your head and Peter sighed again.

         “Y/N…” Peter reached for your hand, “You’re brilliant in so many ways-“

         “But in Spanish I’m a dunce.” Your voice was clipped as your tried to hold back the tears.

         “You’re not a dunce. Your brain just works differently so we need to find how you’ll learn this the best.”

         “What haven’t I tried, Peter?” Your voice was sharp and you whipped your head around to face him and tore your hand from his grasp. “I’ve done flash cards and rewritten my notes over and over and over, and I’ve tried making rhymes and doodling pictures and eating peppermints when I study and when I take the tests; I’ve tried writing in different fonts and different colours and highlighting and underlining!” You threw up your hands and let yourself deflate. When you spoke again your voice was soft, almost defeated. “I don’t know what else there is to try.”

         “Which is why I’m here.” Peter said gently, reaching for your hand again. “Fresh eyes, a partner to practice with.”

         “Peter, I appreciate it, but I can’t keep up. The whole time someone is speaking, I’m still trying to translate the first sentence in my head and conjugate it, and I can’t even get that much figured out.”

         “Then we’ll go slow. You can do this, Y/N.” He said with such conviction that you immediately wanted to believe him. Wanted to watch a montage of late night study sessions set to inspiring music that culminated in you finishing the semester with an A, or at least a solid B, since A was probably beyond possible by this point in the semester.

         You took a deep breath and let Peter’s words and sheer determination sink in. “Thanks, Peter. I’m sorry for being such a pain.”

         “You could never!” He said, sarcasm seeping into his voice as he nudged you lightly.

         You shoved him back. “Goof ball.”

         “Okay, now you’re a pain.”

         “You volunteered for this.”

         Peter just grinned at you as you ignored him and turned back to the set of verbs you were supposed to be conjugating.

 

* * *

  **The time Peter got distracted:**  

         You’d been up late for two weeks and your body was hating you for it. With projects due and tests to study for and club meetings that you couldn’t miss and trying to do anything that was actually fun, you were exhausted. You should have cancelled the study session, but you had started looking forward to them a little bit. Peter was fun once you got him away from the crowds at school, and he somehow always knew the good gossip. That could have been Ned’s influence, but you didn’t see him enough to know for certain.

         The couch was much to comfortable and Peter’s body heat next to you only added to it. He was checking over your answers on some worksheets he’d gotten for you to practice with and the silence was starting to weigh on your eyelids. You needed to find a way to stay awake.

         “Poke!” You sang as you pressed your index finger into Peter’s cheek and left it there.

         “Y/N?” Peter didn’t move a muscle.

         “Yeah, Peter?”   “What are you doing?”         “Poking you.”    “Why?”

         “Well, what else am I supposed to do while you grade me?”

         “Literally anything else?”     “Where’s the fun in that?”

         Peter finally turned his head toward you and you dropped your finger from his face. He had an eyebrow raised, but was clearly trying to hide his smile. “You know, the grading will go faster if you didn’t do that.”

         “Ugh, fine, Dad.” You said dramatically and let your head flop back on the couch.

         He chuckled and turned back to your papers, leaning back as he read over your translation.

         You glanced over and saw an opportunity too good to pass up. Glancing up at his face to make sure he was immersed in your poorly written translation, you gently, slowly scooted closer.

         “Now what are you doing?”

         “Nothing. Just seeing which translation you’re on.”

         “Sure.”

         There was a great deal of sarcasm in his voice and you weren’t sure he believed you. You didn’t respond. You had gotten as close as you needed. You rested your head on his shoulder and you squirmed until the rest of you was comfortable.

         “Y/N?”

         “What? I’m not allowed to poke you, or look over your shoulder. I’m being quiet and patient. Isn’t that what you wanted?” You looked up at him and poked out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him to the best of your ability to appear completely innocent. “You won’t even notice me.”

         Peter looked back at the papers without a word, instantly refocused on the task in front of him, which you took as permission to continue. This time, the body heat, and the couch, and the silence, mixed with the soft rise and fall from Peter’s breathing, you were asleep in no time.

 

         Peter was not at all focused. He could smell you shampoo, a fruity scent he couldn’t exactly name. Your breath was hitting the side of his next, and he was terrified that if he shifted even a little bit you would wake up. He didn’t want that. He also didn’t want to waste your precious time together, but what was he going to do? Demand you wake up so you could watch him mark up your paper?

         You shifted and threw an arm over him and Peter felt himself blush. He’d never had this much contact with another person before. Not someone he was crushing on, at least. He moved you arm a little, just so he could still write, and your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

         As long as you were asleep, there was no reason in rushing, right? He could take his time, make sure he was being the most accurate and helpful tutor. At least, thats the excuse that he gave himself for taking nearly an hour to do a page and half of grading before you finally woke up and asked what year it was.

 

* * *

  **The time you were starting to feel better about the whole thing:**  

         “What’s that?”

         “I made cookies!” You sat the container down on the kitchen table. “I just wanted to show my appreciation. To you for helping me and putting up with me, and to May for letting me invade twice a week with my artillery of textbooks. And cookies are the only thing I know how to make. These cookies, specifically.”

         Peter had already opened the container and taken a big bite, unable to stop a moan from escaping. “Y/N, these are amazing,” he managed to say before shoving the rest in his mouth and reaching for another.

         You beamed at him, cheeks round from smiling so much, eyes bright and twinkling; it occurred to Peter that his heart might stop because of how beautiful you looked smiling at him, because he complimented your cookies. He realized he wanted to make you smile like that - smile at him like that - every day.

         “So, you ready to get started?” You were already unpacking your books and flipping through your notes. “I know we were to chapter eight last time, but could we do a quick review of six and seven before we dive in? I want to make sure I haven’t forgotten it all over the weekend.”

         Peter almost had to shake himself to focus again. “Uh, yeah, sure, good idea.”

         “Great!”

 

         An hour and a half later you were starting to pack up. You had promised your family you’d be home for family dinner that night. It wasn’t often you were all home at the same time to have a meal together, or that anyone had time fix one, so you had all made a special effort since your grandmother was coming over to fix lasagna, and only a fool missed Grandma’s lasagna.

         “Thanks, Peter. The sentence structure makes so much more sense now. You’re pretty good tutor.”

         He shrugged, but grinned at the praise. “Eh, it’s what I do.”

         He stood to walk you to the door, but was caught off guard when you threw your arms around him.

         “Seriously,” you said, voce half muffled by his shoulder, “thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

         He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed gently. “Not necessary. I’m just glad I could help.”

         You pulled back and nodded one sharp nod that signalled your brief touchy feely moment had passed.

         “Let me know what May thinks of the cookies, if there are any left for her.”        

         “She might get one.”

         “I’m going to have to bake her a batch and have the delivered to her work for her to get any.” You said, half out of the door.

         “Probably. Same time Thursday?”

         “I’ll be here. See you, Peter!”

         “Bye, Y/N.”

 

         You walked home thinking about how warm Peter and been, and how nice it felt to have his arms around you. How cute he was fawning over you cookies. You’d bake every day if they made him that happy. And that little noise he’d made… Maybe you didn’t need to tell your Dad that his cookie recipe was quite _that_ good…

  

* * *

**The time you couldn’t keep focus:**  

         “What did you get for number nine? I picked ‘B,’ but apparently that was wrong and I have no idea why.”

         “I can’t help you there. I picked ‘C’ and that wasn’t the right answer, either.”

         “I thought you always aced the quizzes?” You looked up at him, confused for just a moment before an evil grin spread on your face. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

         “Hey, I was tired, and I’d just gotten out of a test in Calculus. Give a guy break. I was brain dead by then.”

         “Come on, let me have some fun, Peter! Mr. Genius missed a question. You’ve been showing me up in Spanish all year, and suddenly you’ve been brought down to my peasant status. How does it feel?” You deepened your voice. “The world wants to know, Peter Parker-“ you thrust your hand in front of his face, holding an imaginary microphone “-what’s it like being a normal person?”

         He laughed and tried to gently nudge your hand away. You nudged back - intent on getting the exclusive interview - except you put in a little more force than necessary and hit him square in the face.

         “Ow!” He jerked back and covered his face on instinct.

         “Ohmygod, Peter! I’m so sorry, Are you okay?”

         You gently pried his hands away from his face to get a good look at the damage. The skin around his nose and mouth was a little red from the impact, but you didn’t see any blood and his nose didn’t look crooked to you. You let out a sigh of relief.

         “Are you alright? Do you want me to get you some ice? I’m not seeing any blood, so thats good. Could be sore though. Might bruise.”

         “Nah, I’m good. I’d rather have a bruise than a cold nose.” He smiled at you to prove that he really was okay, despite the mild throbbing he felt. “You’re one hard hitting reporter, I’ll give you that.”

         Despite your worry and guilt, you giggled. “Shut up, Peter.”

         “What? It was funny. You laughed!”

         “Only at your face.” You giggled again and winked before quickly turning back to the quiz you were supposed to be making corrections on.

         Not that you were thinking about your homework very much. Peter existing next to you was distracting. The more time you’d spent together, the more you liked him, and the more you liked him, the more you began to feel things for him. And it’s hard to focus on learning anything when the person teaching you is so damn cute and sweet and smart and funny and… UGH, what was the correct answer for number nine supposed to be anyway?

         For the briefest of moments, you wondered if you should have taken Flash up on his offer to tutor you. At least you wouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. The opposite actually. You’d hate spending time with him so much you could have mastered Spanish over night so you wouldn’t have to study with him. Probably a better motivator anyway.

         But he was an ass. He sat next to you and ‘couldn’t help but notice’ your bad grades and offered to ‘help you. We could study at my place. My parents work a lot, so we wouldn’t be bothered.’

         The offered made you cringe internally (and maybe externally) and scramble for a polite way to refuse the offer. Peter had noticed. He’d gone out of his way to interject that ‘actually, Y/N just started studying with me. Right, Y/N?”

         “Yeah. Just started.” You had never jumped at a lifeline so fast.

         Flash had glared at the two of you like he knew something was up. “Alright, but when that doesn’t work out, I’m always here.” He said as he walked away.

         “Unfortunately.” You muttered, barely loud enough for Peter to hear.

         He’d laughed and genuinely offered to help you, and you had gratefully accepted, promising whatever he wanted in return if you could get your grade back up to where you wanted it.

         Not that that would happen when you were to concerned by how close Peter was, and how you could smell his soap, or shampoo, or cologne, or whatever it was that smelled so good and seemed to hover around him.

         “Y/N?”

         “Huh? Yeah? Sorry, I was thinking.” You pinched the inside of your wrist and promised yourself that you would focus for the rest of the afternoon.

         “I think the correct answer is D because…”

  

* * *

  **The time you studied the wrong thing:**

         “Peter, I really can’t thank you enough. If I make a 90 on the final, I could make it out with a ‘B.’”

         “Hey, you did all the work. I just helped a little.” He smiled at you. “I told you: you’re brilliant.”

         You smiled back and shook your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

         You were at Peter’s, doing one last cram session before your final the next day. You’d made cookies again, and the two of you had finished off nearly two dozen in two hours, while you tried very hard not to get distracted by the little tiny moans that Peter let out whenever he bit into one.

         “Mmm.”

         Like just then.

         You laughed and looked over at him. “I can’t believe you really like those that much.”

         “They’re perfection, Y/N.”

         You laughed again, but this time because there was a large crumb on the corner of his mouth.

         “What?”

         “You’ve got something…” you pointed to the corner of your own mouth, “right there.”

         “Here?” He wiped at the opposite corner.

         “No, other side.”

         “Did I get it?” He asked as he tried again, but still missed it.

         You looked at him for a moment too long, trying to make you brain work too fast and make it stop completely at the same time. He was to damn cute, and sweet and kind, and helpful, and, and, and…

         “Is that a yes?”

         “No. Here, let me…” You placed your hand on his cheek and leaned in slowly, giving him time to back away or tell you no. When he didn’t, you kept going until your lips were pressed against the corner of his mouth, kissing away the crumb.

         You pulled back, heart pounding, mind racing, terrified that you’d just messed up your friendship. Then you felt his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you back in so your lips were lined up for a proper kiss.

         You lost track of time. The only thing you really noticed was how Peter tasted like cookies, and his breath was warm, and his lips were softer than you had imagined they would be.

         When you parted again, you had to tear his gaze away from his mouth to gauge his reaction. It couldn’t be bad, right? Not if he had initiated the second kiss. Right?

         He let out a breathy chuckle and you did the same on instinct.

         “I… uh… I didn’t know you liked me… like that.”

         “Yeah,” you said just as breathlessly, “have for a while.”

         “Me, too.”

         You blinked in surprise. “Really?”

         He nodded. “Ned’s been teasing me all semester.”

         “What are best friends for, right?”

         He laughed and nodded again, not knowing what else to say.

         And neither did you, so the silence grew. You racked your brain trying to think of something, anything else that you could say, that you should say, but were coming up with nothing beyond your brain screaming at you ‘HE SAID HE LIKES YOU!’ Your brain would have been playing that on loop for days if Peter hadn’t finally spoken.

         “So, uh, after finals, you wanna, hang out? Without all the studying?”

         “Yeah, I’d love to. Spanish is my last final, actually, so I’m free after tomorrow.”

         “Me, too. Wanna celebrate with ice cream after?”

         “Sounds perfect.”

         “Great! It’s a date! I mean, if you want to be.”

         You looked down to hide your wide grin, before looking up at him. “I definitely want it to be.”


End file.
